


Life goes on.

by dicksoutforproblematiccontent



Series: Blizzard AU (Joxter/Snufkin) [3]
Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 新ムーミン | Shin Moomin (Anime 1972), 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Casual Sex, Feral Behavior, Goodbyes, Hermaphrodites, Incest, Intersex, Loud Sex, M/M, Other, Parent/Child Incest, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Squirting, The Mumrik lifestyle is very strange but they like it and understand one another, Wanderlust, adventure calls!, casual incest, kinda??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 20:08:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19180501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dicksoutforproblematiccontent/pseuds/dicksoutforproblematiccontent
Summary: It's truly been a wonderful summer for the Joxter in Moominvalley. Good friends, good food, and of course, the warm body of Snufkin to keep him company.Alas, all things must come to an end, however enjoyable they are. A Mumrik isn't made for staying put for too long, and the Joxter is a Mumrik through and through.The Joxter decides it is time to go.





	Life goes on.

**Author's Note:**

> A short and sweet end to a series (maybe). I really enjoyed writing these three fics! My apologies this one is shorter than the rest, but I think I've burnt myself out writing so much on such short time. Don't worry though! I might write more stuff here and there. Or I might not, who knows. 
> 
> Either way, I hope you enjoy this fic.
> 
> Obligatory "fiction and reality are not the same, what are you, three?" disclaimer. In other words: don't like, don't read.

It’s slick. It’s hot.

The sun is barely peeking over the mountaintops, bright yellow rays touching the land below. There’s birds cheeping and the grass is waving about in the wind. The summer is over, the leaves on the trees turning yellow and red and brown, fluttering to the ground as the still-warm autumn wind blows them from their branches.

So good. So _warm_.

The Joxter huffs with effort, driving himself deeper and harder into a moaning Snufkin. Clothes have been discarded all around them in the wet morning grass that grows all over the clearing they’ve found themselves in. Snufkin is bouncing in his lap, frantically chasing his orgasm as he pushes the Joxter’s shoulders down to the ground. His face is contorted in pleasure, small tears mixing with the sweat dripping down his face, sensations overwhelming his young body.

Combined with the early morning light, all the Joxter can think of is how much Snufkin looks like an angel. So raw. So unguarded. All emotions and feelings are pouring into his expression, into his body language, throwing his head back and yelling in pleasure as the Joxter’s dick hits a particularly good spot inside him.

There’s truly something ethereal about it all.

One of Snufkin’s hands leaves the Joxter’s shoulder, pumping his own dick to heighten the pleasure, and the Joxter takes the opportunity to flip them over, to take control. His dick slips out of Snufkin during the maneuver, at which his son hisses in annoyance, but the Joxter is quick to shush him, taking hold of him by his hip with one hand, the other lifting Snufkin’s leg over his shoulder, spreading his cunt open with how far his legs are apart.

Snufkin’s whining, pawing at his chest, but gasps loudly when the Joxter slides in again, hard and rough and vigorous, setting a brutal, almost punishing pace. The whining turns into high-pitched mewls and yelps, mixed with a deep purr that the Joxter can feel vibrating through his dick. Snufkin is trying to match his rhythm, jerking his hips upwards, but quickly finds he is unable to do much besides lay there and take it, letting his father manhandle him as he pleases.

There’s something feral burning inside Joxter, something deep in his nature that presses him into being as rough as he is. For a moment, he wonders if Snufkin can take this, if this isn’t too much, but in that single instant of hesitation, Snufkin hisses at him to continue, clawing at the grass beneath them, begging for more, deeper, _harder_ , and all of Joxter’s self-restraint flies out of the window right then and there.

He pounds, and Snufkin screeches in pleasure, breaths coming in short gasps as the Joxter rocks his entire body. The Joxter can’t help himself as he joins Snufkin, deep moans and high-pitched yowls escaping his throat. The world narrows down to where Snufkin and him join, pleasure mounting, soft and warm and wet and Snufkin, Snufkin, _Snufkin_ -!

It’s a good thing it’s so early in the morning, and that they’re in quite the secluded area. They’re not holding themselves back at all, howling as their pleasure coils and releases itself all at once. Snufkin’s pussy grows even wetter than before as the Joxter fills it up with his orgasm, heaving breaths escaping him as Snufkin clenches tightly around him with a silent scream. More wetness rushes between their thighs, and in his hazy, orgasm riddled mind, Joxter barely recognizes that Snufkin must’ve squirted.

He feels a tingle of pride as he pulls out with a wet plop, a mixture of cum and vaginal fluid leaking out of Snufkin. He stops to admire it for a second, debating for a moment if he feels like having a taste, before deciding not to, and allowing himself to drop down next to Snufkin, exhausted.

“Wow.” Snufkin breathes after a few minutes, voice hoarse. “That was… something.”

“Certainly was.” The Joxter agrees, shivering a little now that the sweat on his body was starting to evaporate, instinctively curling closer to Snufkin for his body heat. Logic says they should probably put on clothes, but the grass, although wet, is comfortable, and he’s still winded from this particular bout. “Was it okay?” He asks with mild concern. “I got a little intense there at the end.”

“Sure was. I enjoyed myself just fine, papa.” Snufkin says, yawning, likely enjoying the Joxter’s own body heat. “I have to wonder, though. What brought it on? You’re usually much more relaxed.”

“Hmm…” Joxter pauses to think, closing his eyes. There’s a nagging feeling in his chest, one he’s familiar with. The sex had temporarily pushed it aside, the same as it had with Mymble at the time, but time has passed, and he’s enjoyed himself most certainly. Moominvalley was so very welcoming, and Snufkin was a wonderfully warm body to share some intimacy with, but he knows.

“I believe I’ll start traveling again very soon, Snufkin.” He opens his eyes, meeting Snufkin’s knowing gaze. “I’m as Mumrik as they come, I can’t bear to stay in one place for long at all. Nice and free as Moominvalley is, the wanderlust is calling, and I long to be alone for a little while.”

 “I understand, papa.” Snufkin nods, and untangles himself from the Joxter, sitting up with a slight wince, and starts looking around for his discarded clothes. “I’ll be around until winter.”

He doesn’t ask when Joxter’s leaving, nor when (or if) he plans to come back. He doesn’t need to. When Snufkin says he understands, he truly does, and the Joxter couldn’t be happier that he doesn’t have to hear any of the begging and whys or whens or hows. Oh, the Joxter likes people well enough, but he doesn’t truly understand the need to stay grounded like most species do. He’s a Mumrik, and Mumriks come and go as they please, when their heart tells them to. To ask a Mumrik to put a time on their leaving or coming back is like asking a Groke to become warm. It’s just not in their nature, and the Joxter can only guess that Snufkin manages it because he’s half Mymble.

He doesn’t envy Snufkin for it. Snufkin is Snufkin, and Joxter is Joxter, and that is that. One should always do what makes them feel happy and fulfilled, and if, for Snufkin, that is staying in(or at least near) Moominvalley for 3 seasons of the years, that’s his business.

Joxter supposes that he should at least tell Moominpapa he’s going away as well. His old friend would appreciate it, most likely, but the Joxter isn’t sure yet if he will. He’s told Snufkin, who can relay the message that he’s leaving, though even if he hadn’t, it wouldn’t really matter to the Joxter.

It’s not that he doesn’t care, really. Or maybe it is, he isn’t sure. It’s just that they should know better than to think a Mumrik like himself would care for such things.

He wonders if Snufkin says goodbye or leaves letters when he goes traveling. He could see his son doing either, really, with his Mymble softness and Mumrik independence. He could ask, of course, as he lazily watches his son wobble around, picking up his clothes and putting them on. He holds back an amused chuckle as Snufkin struggles with his trousers.

He probably should start dressing himself, too. It’s getting too cold to lounge around naked all day, as fun as it was to affront passing Hemulen or Fillyjonks.

“The sun’s risen over the mountain tops.” Snufkin observes, idly putting his hat on as he finishes dressing, and throws a ball of the Joxter’s own clothes at him. “Put your clothes on, old man. I’m leaving.”

The Joxter hums to indicate he’s heard Snufkin, sitting up with a yawn. “I’m not that old.” He mock grumbles, but starts untangling his clothes. “If I don’t see you anymore before I leave…” he huffs a laugh, meeting Snufkin’s eyes with an amused glint, “it’s been a _pleasure_.”

Snufkin rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his face. “Of course.” Is all he says, before turning around with a wave, walking into the forest. “See you around, papa.”

The Joxter waves back leisurely, a fond grin on his face.

“See you, Snufkin.”

* * *

 

The very next day, the Joxter leaves, casual and sudden as the day he came. He doesn’t end up visiting Moominpapa, but does leave him a letter, if only for politeness sake.

Packing isn’t a problem, considering he has nothing to his name other than his clothes. Some part of him wonders if he should’ve stopped by moominhouse anyway, if only to get some extra food for his travels, but the bigger part of him is just pushing him to _go_. That’s fine by him, really. As delicious as Moominmama’s pancakes are, he finds the taste of freshly caught fish much more appealing, or the taste of freshly picked fruit. Truly, when nature provides everything he needs, why should he bother?

… Of course, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy breaking into bakeries or corner stores every so often, especially if they have a sign that forbids him from entering.

Perhaps it’s very contrary of him, but then, that’s just his nature. He often says that his perfect life would be living in a fruit tree orchard, where he could nap and eat as much as he wanted for the rest of his life, but he’s just the same as any other Mumrik, and wouldn’t be able to stand living in one place for so long. Maybe he’d enjoy it for a few months, maybe a few years even, but eventually his wanderlust would rear its head again, and guide him to different parts of the world.

It’s much the same as the summer he just spent with Snufkin, really. Enjoyable, but fleeting.

That’s the nature of a Mumrik, after all.

The Joxter whistles a light tune as he travels, which echoes through the Lonely Mountains as he passes through them. It’s very quiet otherwise, the path rocky and barren and steep. He left the colorful forests near the base behind him nearly an hour ago, and the landscape reflects it. Not many creatures live here, and the few that do are hardy and cold, unwilling to join him in such a joyous, merry tune. Their loss, truly.

The nagging feeling in his chest that he’d felt lately has lessened considerably, only working as a subconscious inner guide telling him where to go, and he happily follows the feeling. It always led him to interesting places, new and old, places he’d never seen or places he’d visited before. It didn’t truly matter to the Joxter, as long as he got to enjoy the journey. Even if he didn’t have a destination in mind, and he usually didn’t, the traveling life made him feel happy and alive. He is the Joxter, a man who doesn’t need silly material possessions or trinkets, who doesn’t need a permanent home, for the idea of owning a plot of land, as if land could truly be owned by anyone, was ridiculous. The world is made for everyone, and the Joxter travels to see everything it has to offer.

Such is the Mumrik way of life.

Will he miss what he had with Snufkin in Moominvalley? Perhaps a little, but it’s not the end of the world. Surely he will run into Snufkin again someday, or maybe he’ll even return to Moominvalley next year. The future is uncertain, and Joxter likes it that way.

He’s near the top of the mountain, where the path arches over it to go back down, after which Moominvalley will be officially behind him, and the wide, open world will be in front of him. It’s a delightful thought, to be away from the place he’d stayed for the past few months, even though he loved his time there very much.

He turns around, stopping in his tracks for a moment. From this point, you can barely see the valley. No details, just a large grassy field with forests around it, and a sea that laps at the foot of the mountain range. The houses are unrecognizable from this far, except for moominhouse, which stands smack-dab in the middle of the valley.

It’s a truly impressive sight, and suddenly he understands a little more why Snufkin comes back to it every spring. That doesn’t mean he will, no, he’s got other parts of the world to explore, but it certainly gives one a homely feeling.

His tail flicks as he turns around, grin on his face. Time to get going. Adventure calls, after all!

“See you around, Moominvalley.” He mutters to no one in particular, the words being carried away by the wind.

Clutching his red hat, he begins his descent, and whistles a small tune. Unbeknownst to him, at that exact moment Snufkin, sitting on the bridge near his camp, takes his harmonica to play the exact same song.

Music echoes inside the valley and outside the Lonely Mountains as father and son unknowingly have a long-distance duet.

And the world goes on.

**Author's Note:**

> https://twitter.com/Foxyinferno321


End file.
